Windows

I must admit, I’m a bit embarrassed by how cliché this all is. Although, maybe the reason the expression of these feelings is so overused and overexposed is for the exact same reason people take photographs of pretty places and artists paint portraits of pleasing faces…

All I know is through a stained glass window. I see a multitude of colors and when the light travels through, your brilliance is vivacious and lovely and takes on a life of its own. However, what my heart often fails to realize is that the patches of intricately arranged color through which I marvel at you are not the same patches that are stitched together in your actual design.

I convince myself that even if the window were a magnifying glass, the answers I need would still be harbored in that meticulously meandering mind of yours, that underneath all those words burns a real, live spark with warmth that still ignites all the good things in myself, that I’d still wrap my arms around each of your flaws and nurture them as my own. If this window were a magnifying glass, I could scan every part of you at my own pace and discretion and I’m almost positive you’d still unknowingly have this inevitable, unexplainable hold on me…

I should forget about all these silly windows though, because no matter the type, I’m aware that the desire does not lie on the other side, that while I’m gazing through my heart, you only gaze with your head. And no matter the miles between us or the nature of our exchanges, your heart will never be mine to take.

But you will still enter my mind when those songs fill the room and I will still taste your name in my mouth when I am asked “who?” I guess you have made me into a fool…

Yet I am so thankful for these windows.

8/22/11 - 2:29AM

Posted via email from Leah's Blogasaurus Rex